California Hills (Lennon/Cindy, R)
Title: California Hills
Characters/Pairings: Flash-sideways. Lennon/Cindy, cameos by Sayid and Jack.
Rating: R for language and implied adult situations.
Summary: She was never a fan of Hemingway.
Notes: I really have no idea what the heck this is. I really don't. Just read it. For fanfic100 prompt, Green.
Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
The red-eye flight is quiet and she silently cruises the aisles, eyes surveying the empty seats. Well, all except one. As she approaches the single passenger in this section of the plane, she sees he is reading A Farewell to Arms.
She was never a fan of Hemingway.
Hello, stranger, he smiles at her as she hands him a can of lemonade, His fingers briefly touch hers, causing a brief moment of complete and utter stillness.
He is being sarcastic, of course. This is his second flight out of Los Angeles this week, fifth this month. She instantly recognizes those tired, jet-lagged eyes.
Ten minutes later, she is walking to the back of the plane, and a pair of hands pull at her waste, into the lavatory. For a moment, she is afraid, but when she turns and sees those eyes, she is dumbfounded and as they kiss, the only thing she can do is adhere to those soft, demanding lips.
After the finish, he fidgets with the buttons on his shirt as she smoothes over her skirt. She can’t look him in the eye. Can’t believe she has done such an ghastly thing, not to mention in such a public place.
Just before she leaves him, he catches her upper arm.
Would you like to get some dinner?
A few hours later, the plane lands and they find themselves in a local eatery, not too bad for a first date. It’s when she wakes up in his hotel room the next morning is when she thinks this may be more than a quick fling.
It isn’t long before he buys a ring, but keeps it in his jacket pocket for nearly five months. Can’t find the courage, nor the appropriate time to ask.
But he does, finally, and she is more than happy to marry him. He wonders if she feels obligated.
Proposes in Perth. Marries her in Melbourne, a quiet affair with only God and the magistrate as their witness. He was never one for crowds, and thankfully, neither was she. They move to the States soon after, to Los Angeles, where his job takes him. She is still a flight attendant, but only does day flights now, and they make the best of what they have.
~*~*~
It is nearly four months in and the rain softly beats on the small bathroom window. She is sitting on the floor and stares at the pink symbol.
He comes home a few hours later, tired and frustrated. Work’s been treating him horribly lately, especially since he was transferred back to California.
Dumb fucks can’t seem to get their acts together, he grumbles, cleaning his glasses. She leans against the doorway of the kitchen and watches him eat. She isn’t hungry, she tells him. She subtly holds her stomach.
It’s when they are laying in bed that night that she finally tells him the news. Just as he bookmarks halfway through The Grapes of Wrath, she sets down her crossword and stares up at the ceiling. And then she says it.
I’m -- We’re pregnant.
Her suddenly revelation was met by silence. She looks over at him and he is frozen, hand still resting on the book on the bedside table.
That’s -- That’s great, Cyn.
She wonders if he really means it.
A week later, when she returns from a few roundtrips to London, they start going through names. Rebecca. Saul. Abigail. Matthew. Too many names. She can’t help but notice he isn’t as enthusiastic as she is. But she remembers that’s just his way.
About a month later, she notices spotting and cramping. Soon, it becomes too much to ignore.
Not meant to be, the doctor says, as if that would ease her suffering.
He holds her as the doctor leaves and she cries, tugging at his shirt and burying her face into his neck. His face displays no emotion whatsoever, and she hates him for it. All he can do is clean his glasses and run a stiff hand over her heaving back.
~*~*~
Two months later, he’s laid off from his job. She sees more of him now, but every time she comes home from one of her trips, he is just sitting there, doing nothing, staring at the History Channel through those wire-rimmed glasses and takes a sip from his Sprite.
One night, she comes home after a bad day and tells him she’s had enough. The argument ends with her tears and she falls onto the couch, unable to contain herself. She’s learned to never cry in front of someone, but this was just too much. He sits beside her and pulls her close, but she knows he’s not registering this the way she needs him to.
You never wanted that child, she cries, You never wanted me. This was all a goddamn mistake.
She knows it’s over when he decides not to come home one night, from wherever he saunters off to from time-to-time. The same goes for the night after that. And the night after that. She wants to call the police, but the thought of It’s about damn time plagues her mind. On the third day, he calls her. Tells her he’s got a job offer in Sacramento. Apparently, he’s also made a security deposit on a small apartment.
He’s found his way out of the mess that was their marriage.
She lays in bed that night, alone, wondering who he’s fucking as she unwillingly drifts off to sleep in their empty bed.
Before long, she takes off her wedding ring and locks it in the bottom of her sock drawer, but doesn’t have the heart to throw it out.
When he comes to get some clothes and other personal effects, they barely speak. He’s never had to express himself in words. He was always good at manipulating silence to speak for him.
She hires a lawyer soon after, and takes a leave of absence.
He brings his lawyer when they meet, deciding who gets what.
He can’t bring himself to sign the divorce papers.
~*~*~
Today, they were supposed to be celebrating their first year anniversary. As the plane lands, she can feel the wheels make contact with the runway, the eerie screeching makes her nervous.
She stands at the entrance of the flight terminal and wishes the tired passengers a nice life. She wishes she had someone to tell her the same thing. She glances at her watch and curses.
Just as she is about to leave, she bumps into the tall doctor who had helped with the medical situation hours ago.
Sorry, sir, she apologizes, but the moment she looks back at him, she realizes she’s seen him before, but not on the plane. She can’t seem the place it, but her mind feeds her words that don’t make any sense, and she just ignores it, blaming it on the long flight.
As she hurries down the terminal with her rolling suitcase, the very same words come back again, only much more clearer and louder than before.
What are you doing here -- with them? I thought you were taken -- you were -- you were captured.
As she loads her suitcase into the trunk of her ‘97 Honda, images begin to accompany these words. She is standing in the middle of some strange place overgrown with greenery. She thinks it is a zoo the moment she notices the cages, but her conscious rejects the idea. She then sees the man from the plane, standing behind the bars, exhausted and sweating. He is wearing a weathered sleeveless shirt and dirt-stained pants.
The ringing of her cell phone snaps her out of it and she immediately recognizes the number.
What? Yeah, I’m on my way, it’s just been a long flight…Alright, fine. See you there, I guess.
She slams the trunk door shut and starts up the car, giving herself a moment before she buckles up. Minutes later, she is speeding up towards an intersection.
She rubs her temple with her left hand and does her best to keep her eyes open. She guesses that the trip had a bigger impact than she had originally imagined, because she was usually never this tired.
What are they doing here, right now? What are you doing here?!
She slams on her breaks and a car behind her blares its horn, going around her and giving her the finger.
Get it together, she tells herself.
As she speeds up to normal speed, she tries to relax.
If you’ve got something to watch, Cindy, go watch it! Go!
There is little time to react. A heavy impact slams into the right side of the car, sending the side of her head crashing into the window and glass everywhere.
She hears screaming, but closes her eyes because she has not the strength to keep them open.
The taste of salt water fills her mouth and she chokes, but instead spits out blood.
Go.
~*~*~
As the gurney is pushed through the white-washed halls of St. Sebastian, she is somewhere else. She is falling, falling, falling into the ocean blue. She cries out and an unknown voice calms her, hands pressing tightly onto her shoulder blades.
You’re going to be just fine, ma’am, just relax.
Before she knows it, she feels a sharp prick on her forearm and the cooing continues.
Just rest, dear.
Hours later, she awakes to the steady resonating of an EKG. Numerous tubes are going in and out of her and she finds it difficult to breathe with the tube going down her nose and into her stomach. A nurse is standing over her, scribbling away on a clipboard.
A doctor opens the door and dismisses her. He scans the charts on his clipboard and makes notes, just like the nurse before him. Finally, he speaks and she recognizes the man from the plane.
Small world, I just ran into someone else besides you from our plane. The traffic must be crazy today, he was in a car accident too. He was trying to make a joke, and she tried to smile, but she just couldn't see the humor. You’re going to be okay, he assures her. Nothing too serious, you’ll be out of here in no time. Just a broken right fibula and a sprained wrist. You came in with a concussion. You’re going to be experiencing some off-and-on dizziness, but you should be fine within a week. You’re considerably lucky, the car that hit you was running a red light and going thirty miles over the speed limit.
The medical lingo is gibberish to her, but judging by the lack of worry in his voice, she takes it as good news.
Your husband is here. He’s waiting outside, but I wanted to make sure you were in stable condition before I let him in.
She closes her eyes and sucks in a breath.
He’s … We were going to sign the papers today. The divorce papers. That’s where I was going. To meet him.
He nods and fiddles with the pen in his hand.
I’m -- I’m sorry. I just got out of a divorce myself. But it’s your choice. Do you want to see him?
Yeah, fine. Yes. I want to see him.
The doctor leaves and speaks to the unseen presence outside. The door opens again and her husband is there, staring at her through those same damn glasses he always wears. There is worry in his eyes, which surprises her. If the accident had been serious, he may not have had to sign those damn divorce papers. Instead, he would have to just sign the autopsy reports and be done with the whole damn thing.
She wonders if he would cry at her funeral.
But she’s not dead and he’s still standing there. Just as always, they have to make the best of the situation.
You've really gone and done it now, Cyn, he offers her a small smile. What was it with everyone trying to make her realize the hilarity at hand?
Just before he sits down, he leans over and it’s as if he wants to kiss her forehead, but he backs out and sits down in the chair beside the bed. He begins to fidget with the cuffs on his striped button-down. That, and his watch, were birthday gifts to him in April. She wonders if he really awoke and put them on, or he drove back to the house and grabbed them, wanting to make a guilty impression on her when she would wake up.
Don’t do that, she says, half-begging.
Do what? His jaw twitches and there! His lips, those same damn lips that kissed her in the airplane lavatory a year and a half ago, part slightly, and his eyes are glossy.
You know. Where you pretend that you’re upset. You’re not. I get that. I just don’t want you to have to lie to me anymore.
I never lied to you, Cindy. Never have. Never will.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
It does matter. His fingers lightly trace up and down her arm and she closes her eyes. He hasn’t touched her in months, not since he left.
You’re all safe here. As long as we stay in the Temple, he can’t touch us.
What did you just say? She opens her eyes and he stares back at her, confused.
What?
What Temple?
He just stares back at her and shrugs. What are they putting into your IV, Cyn? I haven’t said anything.
She accepts that she’s going fucking mad.
~*~*~
He narrowly avoids a night-duty nurse and darts towards the nearest corridor.
Moments later, he finds and enters the correct room, the light from the hall forces his wife to open her eyes. He admits, that even in this condition, she is still just as beautiful as when they first met, her lips full and eyes the very color reminiscent of Steinbeck’s promising golden-green California hills.
Visiting hours are over, she replies coldly. What the hell are you doing here? She tries to sit up, but the pain in her back makes it difficult and she just slumps back against the pillows. Her eyes are halfway open, still hazy from the morphine.
I had to see you.
She looks up at this.
Considering that it’s nearly 4 in the morning, I suppose it must be one hell of a reason.
One hell of a reason was right. He was staying in town for the next few days, to make sure she was going to be alright instead of heading back up to Sacramento. He left right at the end of visiting hours and headed back to the hotel, going straight to bed.
He lays awake and as he drifts off, he sees something peculiar in his mind’s eye.
Before him stands a woman with curly mid-length hair and she is smiling, her full and plump lips deliciously framing her pearly white teeth, green eyes gleaming with joy. It takes him a moment, but he recognizes this woman as his wife, yet he had never seen her with long hair and her clothing was quite out of place. She was wearing a yellow blouse, slightly weathered, with a dark blue vest.
The vision changes and there is chaos all around. It seems that he is the third-person viewer, because he seems to recognize a man with messy hair and wired spectacles as himself, a gun strapped to his back and people running past him, not listening to a word he says.
Everybody, calm down! It’s gonna be okay! No, no, wait! Hang on!
Moments later, this strange version of him converses intently with a Middle-eastern man and then looks over the man’s shoulder. There is a hint of fear in his eyes, something he rarely would ever reveal to the outside world. Walking with two children is the same woman from before, only this time she is serious and all joy is gone from her expression. Her eyes are tired, her gestures frantic.
Cindy, wait. His other self rushes over to her, blocking her path. You’re all safe here. As long as we stay in the Temple, he can’t touch us.
But she is defiant, intent on her decision. You heard him. Jacob’s dead. And if it isn’t safe here anymore, we can’t take that risk.
She goes around him and stares back at him in disbelief, while his own expression is one of despair.
It is then that he wakes up and immediately reaches for his glasses. He is in the hotel room again, away from the strange and faraway world in his dream.
Temple.
The familiar word echoes in his mind, mockingly. He remembers his wife’s own words. He grabs his keys.
He tells her everything. His visions. She does the same. They match up incredibly well.
I think we’re going crazy, she snidely remarks.
He looks back at her.
Well then, I guess that means they’re going to have to lock us up in Santa Rosa together. Fun.
She can’t help but smile at him.
I’m thinking about staying down here for a few more days. You know, until you can get back on your feet. I -- You may need someone to drive you around, or --
His hand brushes against hers and she holds onto it, despite the pain in her hand due to the needle. Closing her eyes, she remembers something from a book she had picked up from the airport bookstore in Sydney, just before the flight back.
Man is not made for defeat.
He smiles. You hate Hemingway.
I’m willing to give him a second chance.
And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Characters/Pairings: Flash-sideways. Lennon/Cindy, cameos by Sayid and Jack.
Rating: R for language and implied adult situations.
Summary: She was never a fan of Hemingway.
Notes: I really have no idea what the heck this is. I really don't. Just read it. For fanfic100 prompt, Green.
Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
The red-eye flight is quiet and she silently cruises the aisles, eyes surveying the empty seats. Well, all except one. As she approaches the single passenger in this section of the plane, she sees he is reading A Farewell to Arms.
She was never a fan of Hemingway.
Hello, stranger, he smiles at her as she hands him a can of lemonade, His fingers briefly touch hers, causing a brief moment of complete and utter stillness.
He is being sarcastic, of course. This is his second flight out of Los Angeles this week, fifth this month. She instantly recognizes those tired, jet-lagged eyes.
Ten minutes later, she is walking to the back of the plane, and a pair of hands pull at her waste, into the lavatory. For a moment, she is afraid, but when she turns and sees those eyes, she is dumbfounded and as they kiss, the only thing she can do is adhere to those soft, demanding lips.
After the finish, he fidgets with the buttons on his shirt as she smoothes over her skirt. She can’t look him in the eye. Can’t believe she has done such an ghastly thing, not to mention in such a public place.
Just before she leaves him, he catches her upper arm.
Would you like to get some dinner?
A few hours later, the plane lands and they find themselves in a local eatery, not too bad for a first date. It’s when she wakes up in his hotel room the next morning is when she thinks this may be more than a quick fling.
It isn’t long before he buys a ring, but keeps it in his jacket pocket for nearly five months. Can’t find the courage, nor the appropriate time to ask.
But he does, finally, and she is more than happy to marry him. He wonders if she feels obligated.
Proposes in Perth. Marries her in Melbourne, a quiet affair with only God and the magistrate as their witness. He was never one for crowds, and thankfully, neither was she. They move to the States soon after, to Los Angeles, where his job takes him. She is still a flight attendant, but only does day flights now, and they make the best of what they have.
~*~*~
It is nearly four months in and the rain softly beats on the small bathroom window. She is sitting on the floor and stares at the pink symbol.
He comes home a few hours later, tired and frustrated. Work’s been treating him horribly lately, especially since he was transferred back to California.
Dumb fucks can’t seem to get their acts together, he grumbles, cleaning his glasses. She leans against the doorway of the kitchen and watches him eat. She isn’t hungry, she tells him. She subtly holds her stomach.
It’s when they are laying in bed that night that she finally tells him the news. Just as he bookmarks halfway through The Grapes of Wrath, she sets down her crossword and stares up at the ceiling. And then she says it.
I’m -- We’re pregnant.
Her suddenly revelation was met by silence. She looks over at him and he is frozen, hand still resting on the book on the bedside table.
That’s -- That’s great, Cyn.
She wonders if he really means it.
A week later, when she returns from a few roundtrips to London, they start going through names. Rebecca. Saul. Abigail. Matthew. Too many names. She can’t help but notice he isn’t as enthusiastic as she is. But she remembers that’s just his way.
About a month later, she notices spotting and cramping. Soon, it becomes too much to ignore.
Not meant to be, the doctor says, as if that would ease her suffering.
He holds her as the doctor leaves and she cries, tugging at his shirt and burying her face into his neck. His face displays no emotion whatsoever, and she hates him for it. All he can do is clean his glasses and run a stiff hand over her heaving back.
~*~*~
Two months later, he’s laid off from his job. She sees more of him now, but every time she comes home from one of her trips, he is just sitting there, doing nothing, staring at the History Channel through those wire-rimmed glasses and takes a sip from his Sprite.
One night, she comes home after a bad day and tells him she’s had enough. The argument ends with her tears and she falls onto the couch, unable to contain herself. She’s learned to never cry in front of someone, but this was just too much. He sits beside her and pulls her close, but she knows he’s not registering this the way she needs him to.
You never wanted that child, she cries, You never wanted me. This was all a goddamn mistake.
She knows it’s over when he decides not to come home one night, from wherever he saunters off to from time-to-time. The same goes for the night after that. And the night after that. She wants to call the police, but the thought of It’s about damn time plagues her mind. On the third day, he calls her. Tells her he’s got a job offer in Sacramento. Apparently, he’s also made a security deposit on a small apartment.
He’s found his way out of the mess that was their marriage.
She lays in bed that night, alone, wondering who he’s fucking as she unwillingly drifts off to sleep in their empty bed.
Before long, she takes off her wedding ring and locks it in the bottom of her sock drawer, but doesn’t have the heart to throw it out.
When he comes to get some clothes and other personal effects, they barely speak. He’s never had to express himself in words. He was always good at manipulating silence to speak for him.
She hires a lawyer soon after, and takes a leave of absence.
He brings his lawyer when they meet, deciding who gets what.
He can’t bring himself to sign the divorce papers.
~*~*~
Today, they were supposed to be celebrating their first year anniversary. As the plane lands, she can feel the wheels make contact with the runway, the eerie screeching makes her nervous.
She stands at the entrance of the flight terminal and wishes the tired passengers a nice life. She wishes she had someone to tell her the same thing. She glances at her watch and curses.
Just as she is about to leave, she bumps into the tall doctor who had helped with the medical situation hours ago.
Sorry, sir, she apologizes, but the moment she looks back at him, she realizes she’s seen him before, but not on the plane. She can’t seem the place it, but her mind feeds her words that don’t make any sense, and she just ignores it, blaming it on the long flight.
As she hurries down the terminal with her rolling suitcase, the very same words come back again, only much more clearer and louder than before.
What are you doing here -- with them? I thought you were taken -- you were -- you were captured.
As she loads her suitcase into the trunk of her ‘97 Honda, images begin to accompany these words. She is standing in the middle of some strange place overgrown with greenery. She thinks it is a zoo the moment she notices the cages, but her conscious rejects the idea. She then sees the man from the plane, standing behind the bars, exhausted and sweating. He is wearing a weathered sleeveless shirt and dirt-stained pants.
The ringing of her cell phone snaps her out of it and she immediately recognizes the number.
What? Yeah, I’m on my way, it’s just been a long flight…Alright, fine. See you there, I guess.
She slams the trunk door shut and starts up the car, giving herself a moment before she buckles up. Minutes later, she is speeding up towards an intersection.
She rubs her temple with her left hand and does her best to keep her eyes open. She guesses that the trip had a bigger impact than she had originally imagined, because she was usually never this tired.
What are they doing here, right now? What are you doing here?!
She slams on her breaks and a car behind her blares its horn, going around her and giving her the finger.
Get it together, she tells herself.
As she speeds up to normal speed, she tries to relax.
If you’ve got something to watch, Cindy, go watch it! Go!
There is little time to react. A heavy impact slams into the right side of the car, sending the side of her head crashing into the window and glass everywhere.
She hears screaming, but closes her eyes because she has not the strength to keep them open.
The taste of salt water fills her mouth and she chokes, but instead spits out blood.
Go.
~*~*~
As the gurney is pushed through the white-washed halls of St. Sebastian, she is somewhere else. She is falling, falling, falling into the ocean blue. She cries out and an unknown voice calms her, hands pressing tightly onto her shoulder blades.
You’re going to be just fine, ma’am, just relax.
Before she knows it, she feels a sharp prick on her forearm and the cooing continues.
Just rest, dear.
Hours later, she awakes to the steady resonating of an EKG. Numerous tubes are going in and out of her and she finds it difficult to breathe with the tube going down her nose and into her stomach. A nurse is standing over her, scribbling away on a clipboard.
A doctor opens the door and dismisses her. He scans the charts on his clipboard and makes notes, just like the nurse before him. Finally, he speaks and she recognizes the man from the plane.
Small world, I just ran into someone else besides you from our plane. The traffic must be crazy today, he was in a car accident too. He was trying to make a joke, and she tried to smile, but she just couldn't see the humor. You’re going to be okay, he assures her. Nothing too serious, you’ll be out of here in no time. Just a broken right fibula and a sprained wrist. You came in with a concussion. You’re going to be experiencing some off-and-on dizziness, but you should be fine within a week. You’re considerably lucky, the car that hit you was running a red light and going thirty miles over the speed limit.
The medical lingo is gibberish to her, but judging by the lack of worry in his voice, she takes it as good news.
Your husband is here. He’s waiting outside, but I wanted to make sure you were in stable condition before I let him in.
She closes her eyes and sucks in a breath.
He’s … We were going to sign the papers today. The divorce papers. That’s where I was going. To meet him.
He nods and fiddles with the pen in his hand.
I’m -- I’m sorry. I just got out of a divorce myself. But it’s your choice. Do you want to see him?
Yeah, fine. Yes. I want to see him.
The doctor leaves and speaks to the unseen presence outside. The door opens again and her husband is there, staring at her through those same damn glasses he always wears. There is worry in his eyes, which surprises her. If the accident had been serious, he may not have had to sign those damn divorce papers. Instead, he would have to just sign the autopsy reports and be done with the whole damn thing.
She wonders if he would cry at her funeral.
But she’s not dead and he’s still standing there. Just as always, they have to make the best of the situation.
You've really gone and done it now, Cyn, he offers her a small smile. What was it with everyone trying to make her realize the hilarity at hand?
Just before he sits down, he leans over and it’s as if he wants to kiss her forehead, but he backs out and sits down in the chair beside the bed. He begins to fidget with the cuffs on his striped button-down. That, and his watch, were birthday gifts to him in April. She wonders if he really awoke and put them on, or he drove back to the house and grabbed them, wanting to make a guilty impression on her when she would wake up.
Don’t do that, she says, half-begging.
Do what? His jaw twitches and there! His lips, those same damn lips that kissed her in the airplane lavatory a year and a half ago, part slightly, and his eyes are glossy.
You know. Where you pretend that you’re upset. You’re not. I get that. I just don’t want you to have to lie to me anymore.
I never lied to you, Cindy. Never have. Never will.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
It does matter. His fingers lightly trace up and down her arm and she closes her eyes. He hasn’t touched her in months, not since he left.
You’re all safe here. As long as we stay in the Temple, he can’t touch us.
What did you just say? She opens her eyes and he stares back at her, confused.
What?
What Temple?
He just stares back at her and shrugs. What are they putting into your IV, Cyn? I haven’t said anything.
She accepts that she’s going fucking mad.
~*~*~
He narrowly avoids a night-duty nurse and darts towards the nearest corridor.
Moments later, he finds and enters the correct room, the light from the hall forces his wife to open her eyes. He admits, that even in this condition, she is still just as beautiful as when they first met, her lips full and eyes the very color reminiscent of Steinbeck’s promising golden-green California hills.
Visiting hours are over, she replies coldly. What the hell are you doing here? She tries to sit up, but the pain in her back makes it difficult and she just slumps back against the pillows. Her eyes are halfway open, still hazy from the morphine.
I had to see you.
She looks up at this.
Considering that it’s nearly 4 in the morning, I suppose it must be one hell of a reason.
One hell of a reason was right. He was staying in town for the next few days, to make sure she was going to be alright instead of heading back up to Sacramento. He left right at the end of visiting hours and headed back to the hotel, going straight to bed.
He lays awake and as he drifts off, he sees something peculiar in his mind’s eye.
Before him stands a woman with curly mid-length hair and she is smiling, her full and plump lips deliciously framing her pearly white teeth, green eyes gleaming with joy. It takes him a moment, but he recognizes this woman as his wife, yet he had never seen her with long hair and her clothing was quite out of place. She was wearing a yellow blouse, slightly weathered, with a dark blue vest.
The vision changes and there is chaos all around. It seems that he is the third-person viewer, because he seems to recognize a man with messy hair and wired spectacles as himself, a gun strapped to his back and people running past him, not listening to a word he says.
Everybody, calm down! It’s gonna be okay! No, no, wait! Hang on!
Moments later, this strange version of him converses intently with a Middle-eastern man and then looks over the man’s shoulder. There is a hint of fear in his eyes, something he rarely would ever reveal to the outside world. Walking with two children is the same woman from before, only this time she is serious and all joy is gone from her expression. Her eyes are tired, her gestures frantic.
Cindy, wait. His other self rushes over to her, blocking her path. You’re all safe here. As long as we stay in the Temple, he can’t touch us.
But she is defiant, intent on her decision. You heard him. Jacob’s dead. And if it isn’t safe here anymore, we can’t take that risk.
She goes around him and stares back at him in disbelief, while his own expression is one of despair.
It is then that he wakes up and immediately reaches for his glasses. He is in the hotel room again, away from the strange and faraway world in his dream.
Temple.
The familiar word echoes in his mind, mockingly. He remembers his wife’s own words. He grabs his keys.
He tells her everything. His visions. She does the same. They match up incredibly well.
I think we’re going crazy, she snidely remarks.
He looks back at her.
Well then, I guess that means they’re going to have to lock us up in Santa Rosa together. Fun.
She can’t help but smile at him.
I’m thinking about staying down here for a few more days. You know, until you can get back on your feet. I -- You may need someone to drive you around, or --
His hand brushes against hers and she holds onto it, despite the pain in her hand due to the needle. Closing her eyes, she remembers something from a book she had picked up from the airport bookstore in Sydney, just before the flight back.
Man is not made for defeat.
He smiles. You hate Hemingway.
I’m willing to give him a second chance.
And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.